


Trust

by eigengrau



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Physical Disability, Reconciliation, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-14
Packaged: 2017-11-01 03:09:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eigengrau/pseuds/eigengrau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t shut me out anymore. I want you to see me.”<br/>“I’ve forgotten how.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

** Prologue **

_“How can I be sure you’re telling the truth?”_

_“You can’t. I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”_

 

\--- 

It was an extremely long ride back to Florida. While it didn’t take forever in terms of actual time- the boat reluctantly dispatched by the Navy had gotten them to the mainland in two hours, and the helicopter had an even shorter trip- for the people on board, it felt like an eternity.

 

Beyond the railing the sea rose up, topped with white foam as the ship cut a path through the Atlantic. Erik Lensherr stared out at the disrupted ocean and thought about ripples. They were deep, dark, unhappy thoughts.

 

If one thing was different, in history, how would that change the world we live in? If we could clearly see the paths that our actions would lead us down, would we be able to prevent tragedy, to avoid pain? Could there be a single event somewhere, sometime, that changed the direction of our destinies?

 

Erik thought hard, and he thought long, but despite the fact that his head was uncovered, nobody heard his thoughts but him.

 

When he took his hands away, the steel railing had dented under his fingertips.

 

High in the air, miles ahead, Charles Xavier lay on a canvas stretcher and prayed for unconsciousness. He was not a religious man- years at university and in the thrall of science had long since bled the God from his bones- but still he prayed for freedom from the agony coursing through his body, for the ability to sleep and ignore the inevitable truth, for silence and control. His head spun with pain and a thousand deafening thoughts that swarmed his brain like angry bees. As his suffering worsened, his defenses fell and other people’s minds flooded into his own. He prayed for the strength to block them out, for control. Squeezing a hand just because it was there, he tried not to fall apart.

 

Below decks the others were sitting around, feeling awkward. They had separated naturally into two groups: Sean, Alex, Hank, and Raven on one side of the room and Angel, Azazel, and Riptide on the other. They exchanged glares and muttered quietly amongst themselves.

 

In an hour they would all be exhausted, but for now they remained awake as the adrenaline of the day pumped through their veins. None of them were sure how to feel- the initial thrill at their victory had been blanketed by anger at their betrayal by the government and then fear for their teacher’s wellbeing. Raven leaned against Hank, her yellow eyes rimmed with red, as he patted her shoulder awkwardly with his paw. The last remnants of the Hellfire Club brooded in the corner. They were mostly angry, but not angry enough to make them forget that they were essentially prisoners of war.

 

Tension clouded the air, and no one spoke for fear of disturbing it.

 

They were all alone, now.


	2. Chapter 2

_“Take it off.”_

_“No.”_

_“Don’t make me do something I’ll regret. Take it off. NOW.”_

_“No. Not this time.”_

 ---

The hospital is cool and very, very white. A normal person would say that it’s quiet, up here on one of the highest floors, in the private room with the nice thick walls. But Charles isn’t a normal person, and this is the first time in three days that he hasn’t been sedated. He’s stuck in between unconsciousness and full clarity- he’s drugged up to the gills, and his control is loose and weak. There’s a woman giving birth in the room below him, and a young yellow boy with no hair and hollow eyes dying of cancer on the next floor, and a girl with her bone sticking out of her arm in the emergency room. Their pain is his pain, their fear and anxiety and joy reflecting in him. He wishes they would all shut up. He has his own problems to deal with right now, and he’s having a hard enough time already without hundreds of other people screaming in his head.

 

He goes to curl into a ball, to pull his legs to his chest like he would do when he was a kid, but nothing happens and he remembers. He reaches over to the bedside table, straining until his fingers finally curl around the little orange pill container. It takes him a moment, fingers fumbling and brain fuzzy (and so LOUD), until he can open the lid and gulp down two of his new favorite tablets, blue and round and dry on the back of his tongue.

 

He lies back against the pillow and screams inside his mind, trying to block the white noise from the rest of the hospital’s occupants as he waits to fall asleep.

 

 

Footsteps echo through the long empty corridors of the mansion, clacking against the polished wood floor. Moira’s dressed professionally in a skirt and suit copied straight from Jackie Kennedy’s wardrobe. She stops outside an oaken door and knocks.

 

“Go away,” A voice growls from inside. Moira frowns.

 

“It’s official United States business.”

 

“I’m not an American citizen; I have no duty to your government. Leave.”

 

“It’s about Charles.”

 

There’s a pause, and then the doorknob begins to turn, the knocker lifting. Moira just has time to step out of the way before the door is pulled open by an invisible force to reveal Erik, arms crossed and glaring darkly. “Speak your piece.”

 

Scowling right back, Moira pushed past him into the darkened room. “I need his files. The ones on Shaw and the rest of the Hellfire Club.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“We’ve got the three that were on the sub in custody, but we need to know all about them if we’re going to contain them properly. We’re having a hard enough time with the teleporter as it is. I know the files are here somewhere; don’t play dumb, Erik-“

 

“Mr. Lensherr.” He says through gritted teeth. “Only people I like call me Erik.”

 

“Truthfully? I don’t care what you want me to call you.” Moira’s voice is cold as she glances over her shoulder at Erik, pouring a finger of whiskey from the tumbler on his side table into a stainless steel-rimmed shot glass. “And I would prefer it if you didn’t like me at all. Just give me the files and hopefully we’ll never have to speak to each other again.”

 

The glass flies out of her hand when she goes to take a drink and drops squarely into Erik’s outstretched palm. He drains it in a single gulp before it floats away, dropping to the ground with a clatter. “I think you should leave now, Ms. McTaggart.”

 

She strides out angrily, and if her mutant powers were that her eyes could literally shoot daggers, Erik would be a dead man. She pivots on her heel just as she’s crossed the threshold.

 

“Do you think he’s going to just let you stay here, after what you did?” There’s a note of steel in her voice: metaphorical metal, the only one that Erik can’t control. “Even if he does, none of them will trust you. How good is a house divided, Mr. Lensherr? How many lives do you really think you can save with only the fragments of a team?”

 

He is silent, his face dipped in shadow.

 

“We can help. We just need this information, please.” She’s down to her last card. “Isn’t it what Charles would want?”

 

The door slams an inch away from her nose.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

_“Do you understand, now? How it feels to have someone blocking you out?”_

_“You’re not-“_

_“No, you’re right, I’m not.”_

_\---_

The students are supposed to be practicing their powers on the second floor when Charles comes back from the hospital. Instead they’re crowded around the window, struggling to get a look at the long black sedan that’s just pulled up the driveway. It slows to a halt; a tire crunching on loose gravel, and a man in a black suit gets out of the passenger’s seat. Moira’s there, in a charcoal pantsuit, opening the car’s back door and speaking to the person inside. She leaves for a moment, going around to the doorway to wheel out the sleek white wheelchair that had been perched precariously on the cobbled walkway.

 

Hank frowns. “I hope it’ll work alright. I spent hours trying to get it aerodynamic enough.”

 

Raven smiles shakily, trying to be encouraging even though she feels like any second she may burst into tears without warning. “It’ll be fine.”

 

“Really? Are you sure? Does the back left wheel look a little wobbly, or is that just me…?”

 

“Stop worrying, Hank. Come on, be a big girl.” Alex rolls his eyes. Hank growls, baring his pointed teeth.

 

“Guys, shut up!” Sean hisses. They turn their attention back to the view from the window, feeling slightly shamed.

 

Charles is pulling himself out of the car, sliding across the seat with his hands gripping the door tightly. The man in black approaches, arms outstretched as if to help, but Charles barks out something they can’t hear and the man backs away. Their professor maneuvers himself into the wheelchair, settling into the seat with an even, measured look on his face. Moira grabs the handles of the chair and starts wheeling him towards the mansion.

 

Charles turns to look up at the window suddenly. They duck, falling into a pile on the floor. An amused voice spreads through their minds, warm and familiar.

 

**I can tell you’re up there, you know. You _could_ come down and say hello.**

They peek over the sill tentatively and see a last glimpse of an arched eyebrow and a faint smile before Moira wheels him around the corner. They glance at each other and then all four bolt for the door at once, jostling to try to be the first downstairs.

 

Charles is immensely grateful to be home. He had never thought of the mansion as “home” before, he realized, but then again the years he had spent there had never been very good. The house, which had been cold and empty for so many years, is now bursting with life. It radiates off of the place like heat from a stove.

 

He has his wits about him, thankfully. His dosage of pain medication has been reduced, and the fuzziness that clouded his brain and tore down his carefully built blocks has mostly melted away. He’s still having a bit of a hard time keeping out all the thoughts, but at least now they sound more like dull whispers and less like screams. He’s in pretty good form, all things considered.

 

Well, still a bit cranky, maybe, as the man in black who had offered to lift him out of the car would attest, but it is certainly his prerogative. He doesn’t want pity. It’s embarrassing.

 

He does, however, want a cup of tea.

 

Moira talks aimlessly as she wheels him through the courtyard, her bright voice badly hiding the guilt he can feel seeping off her body. It’s not very strong, but it’s there. A little concentration is all it takes for Charles to read her like a book. She feels bad about what happened, but she believes that she’s done no wrong- she’s convinced that she was not at fault, that her actions were not what has placed him in this chair.

 

Her strong conviction sings out like an operatic soprano, her thoughts louder than she thinks: **Erik. His fault. Bastard.**

It’s not that black and white, Charles knows. His words on the beach aren’t totally right. As much as he’d love to pin the blame on Erik, yell at him, throw him onto the street, he knows it wouldn’t be right. It’s just as much Moira’s fault as it is Erik’s; just as much Charles’ fault, too. There’s a headache starting to pulse behind his temples. The guilt he felt earlier isn’t all coming from Moira, so it must have a different source, and it’s been getting steadily stronger as they’ve been nearing the house.

 

He really wants that cup of tea.

 

Moira lifts the chair over the bump between ground and doorframe, angling the wheels so that he goes up, down, up, down before landing carefully on the wood floor. Charles is thankful that no one ever thought to install carpet in the mansion.

 

Swearing at each other and thumping down the stairs, the kids come barreling down into the hallway. All four are flushed, Alex and Sean pink and Hank and Raven a deep shade of purple. Charles can’t help but laugh at their panting. He feels better than he has in days.

 

“Come down to join the party, I see.” He teases gently, and their nervous looks turn into hesitant grins. “I’m very disappointed. Where’s my marching band? I was promised a parade.”

 

“What do you think we are, made of money?” Alex frowns jokingly.

 

Hank lifts a blue fuzzy hand uncertainly, and Charles raises an eyebrow. “Does the chair work okay?”

 

“It’s perfect, thank you.” He rubs a hand on the rim of one of the wheels. “It’s really wonderful, Hank.”

 

“Cool.” His teeth look even larger when he’s smiling. “I-“

 

“Made it completely out of plastic, I see.”

 

Things get quiet almost immediately. Erik stands at the end of the hall, hands in his pockets. There are dark bags under his eyes and his shoulders are hunched uncharacteristically. Charles is hit with two opposing waves of emotion, one shooting out from the people gathered round him and the other soaking the air further away, like spilt wine bleeding out onto fabric. The first is anger and distrust, and it’s coming from the students. And the other…

 

Charles realizes now where the guilt was coming from.

 

It hurts.

 


	4. Chapter 4

_“This isn’t something you can just yell until or goes away or, or try to stab in the face! That’s not how it works!”_

_“You think I don’t know that?!”_

_“I don’t know anymore! I can’t know anything unless you let me in!”_

_“How do you think I feel?”_

_\---_

The students are staring. Hank scowls, and it looks much more threatening on his new face than it ever did behind horn-rimmed glasses. “Yes. The wheelchair is made entirely of plastic.” He narrows his eyes. “Not a piece of metal on it. Not even screws.”

 

Charles feels sick as Erik nods wearily. “It’s a good design. I applaud you on your foresight.” He looks up, and their eyes meet. “Charles.”

 

“Erik.” The name tastes heavy and metallic on his tongue. Erik is tense, emotions bursting out of him in short, sharp lances, like flashes of lightning: Fear, sadness, anger, pain. Guilt, always.

 

He opens his mouth and closes it again, lips a taut line against his pale face. It takes a moment before he speaks. “It’s good to have you back.”

 

“Thank you.” Charles feels lost, confused. For once in his clean, structured life, he doesn’t know what to do. “It’s good to be back.”

 

Erik nods again, short and sharp, and turns on his heel. His hasty retreat echoes in the high-ceilinged hallway; the slam of his door, more so. Charles bites down on the inside of his cheek and wishes he could fade away.

 

 **Keep calm and carry on** , he sighs in his head. The other turn to look at him and he blushes as he realizes, too late, that he had projected the thought. “Sorry,” he says out loud. “Um…”

 

Sean pipes up, a true Godsend. “Would you like something to eat, Professor?”

 

Charles forces a smile. “Actually, Sean, I could murder a cup of tea.”

 

 

It’s late by the time Charles manages to get away. He’s glad to see the others again, but they tire him out rather quickly. It will be a few days, maybe weeks, until he can successfully keep a lid on his powers, and with a bunch of easily excitable teenagers all thinking as loudly as possible WHILE trying to talk over each other, he got exhausted after a relatively short time. Not wanting to disappoint the students, though, he’s stayed up longer than he really should.

 

The ceiling looks so much higher now than it did used to. Charles wheels himself down the hall, staring up at the vaulted arches as he spins the rims. He feels like he’s floating, and if he doesn’t look down at his legs, leaning limply against the sides of the chair, he can almost believe that he is.

 

They moved his room while he was in the hospital, and he’s grateful that it’s closer now. An elevator is being installed next week but until then Charles is confined to the first floor and the grounds.

 

His room is dark when he gets in, but he doesn’t for a second think that it’s empty. One of the benefits of being telepathic. He sighs and wheels himself in.

 

“Turn on the light, Eric.”

 

An orange glow fills the room. Erik stands by the bed, rolling a small object between his palms nervously. His mind is open wide, bleeding thoughts freely. Charles focuses the last of his strength on blocking them out.

 

“Charles, we need to talk.”

 

Forcing a smile, he maneuvers himself onto the bed. “No, we don’t. Everything is fine.” He goes to reach for his pajamas. “Really.”

 

“But-“

 

He forces out a particularly pushy thought wave and Erik stumbles. “Please. I’m very tired, and I need to sleep now.” Realizing that his voice has gained a harsh edge, he tries to soften it. “Please, Erik.”

 

He nods. He’s more monosyllabic than ever, Charles notices as he strides towards the door, but his mind is struggling to be heard.

 

Charles doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to listen right now. If Erik has something to say he can do it like a normal bloody person.

 

He’s shocked by a second at how bitter he sounds, how cruel. For a moment, just a moment, his guard is down.

 

**This isn’t what I wanted.**

 

He shuts off the connection as quickly as it had opened. Erik freezes by the door, hand hovering over the handle. Charles massages his temples, eyes squeezing hut.

 

“Good night.”

 

Erik looks back at him on the bed, eyes lingering on the motionless legs curled under him protectively.

 

“Good night, Charles.”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

_“Don’t shut me out anymore. I want you to see me.”_

_“I’ve forgotten how.”_

_\---_

“I wanted a place where the students could practice their powers and I wouldn’t have to worry about them breaking the good china or burning holes in the drapes.”

 

Erik looks around the large, empty space, taking in the smooth metallic walls and the futuristic blue-grey tiles of the floor. “Well, it’s certainly big.”

 

Charles raises an eyebrow. “Not impressed, are we?”

 

“It just doesn’t seem to be anything special. Are we ordering new equipment?”

 

“Not exactly.” The telepath grins. “Watch this.”

 

He taps a series of buttons and leans back in his chair expectantly. He studies Erik’s face with barely held-back glee, watching as his expression morphs from boredom to astonishment.

 

He presses his hands to the glass in front of him. “My God!”

 

Charles turns his gaze to the view. The previously empty, sterile room is now a jungle, heavy vines hanging from the dark trees and misty fog hovering in the air. He feels a surge of pride. “I had Hank build it. He says they’re ‘hard light holograms’.  It’s completely interactive; you can go down and see for yourself. If you touch something, it feels completely real.” He’s feeling slightly smug. “I call it the danger room.”

 

Erik heads to the elevator, then pauses. “You’re not coming?”

 

Shaking his head, Charles taps the console. “I’ll stay here, make sure nothing goes wrong.”

 

“If that’s what you want.”

 

“It is.”

 

Erik stares at him for a long moments before getting in. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he says, closing the metal doors with a wave of his hand.

 

Out the window, Charles watches as Erik steps into the simulated jungle. It’s been nearly three months since he first sat in the wheelchair, since he last read Erik’s mind. He’s been staying away on purpose, partly because it feels to intimate now, and partly because… Hell, he doesn’t know. Because he’s afraid of what he’ll see in Erik, maybe, or because he’s afraid of what Erik will see in him. He feels like eh should have forgiven him by now, and some days he can convince himself that he has, but then every time he wakes up in a cold sweat wondering why he can’t feel his legs all the anger and pain comes flooding right back.

 

He wants to trust Erik, he wants it more than anything, but it’s so hard after what he did. He feels like such a hypocrite, but no matter how miserable it makes him, he can’t bring himself to go back into Erik’s mind.

 

So it’s been rough. They play chess together and train the students, but where they were inseparable before they are now wary and tense around each other, circling. The students don’t really want anything to do with Erik anymore, their trust shattered and fragmented, and he’s spending more and more time in his room, retreating into himself.

 

Moira is outside, trying to decide whether to knock or ring the doorbell. Charles allows himself a small smile. He likes Moira. She’s smart and loyal, compassionate- she’s a good friend. He knows that she’s attracted to him (it’s hard to miss, really, one doesn’t have to be a mutant to see it), and he probably would have slept with her back when they first met, but now… well. Charles just can’t see it.

 

She decides to ring the doorbell. Charles closes his eyes and sends a message to the game room.

 

**Sean. Can you answer the door?**

 

Sean jumps, banging his shin on the pinball machine. “Geez, Professor, a little warning next time?” He says, rubbing his leg.

 

**Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Agent McTaggart is about to ring the doorbell. Can you let her in?**

“Sure, no problem. He bounds downstairs just as she presses the button.

 

Charles turns back to the window and turns on the intercom, leaning forward to speak into the microphone. “Erik, I’m going to end the simulation.”

 

Erik’s voice crackles over the speakers. “Why? What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing.” He’s quick to say, fiddling with a dial, a switch. “It’s just... Moira’s here, and I have to go talk to her.”

 

The metal-bending mutant frowns up at the observation boot as the tropical forest fades around him. “Why is she here?”

 

Charles shrugs. “Does she need a reason?”

 

Erik’s silence is enough of an answer by itself. Charles sighs.

 

“She needs some files of mine. The ones on the Hellfire Club.”

 

“And why should we give them to her?” Erik’s voice raises, anger badly contained. “So that they can cut them open, find out what makes them tick?”

 

“So that they don’t have to.” The angrier Erik gets, the harder it is to block out his thoughts. Charles taps the rim of his heel anxiously. “We’re co-operating with the government on this one, Erik. It’s safer for everyone with them in custody, and they can’t expect to keep them in jail unless they know their weaknesses.”

 

Erik looks like he’s about to yell, but he deflates instead. “Right. Sorry. I…” He passes a hand over his face. “Sorry.”

 

“It’s fine.” It’s not, of course, but that’s practically Charles’ catchphrase now, and saying it one more time won’t hurt. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

 

“Right.” He’s wheeling towards the elevator when the microphone lets out one last burst of static. “Charles? Why did you use the intercom? Why didn’t you just speak into my mind?”

 

Charles bows his head and grits his teeth. “I have to go. Don’t trouble yourself.”

 

And then Erik is alone in the cold metal room.


	6. Chapter 6

_“I don’t want you to forgive me. Just don’t ignore me.”_

 ---

Charles feels like shit. He’s excused himself from training today, told Erik to run drills with the students until lunch and then give them the rest of the day off before retreating to his room. He’s got a migraine coming on, his stomach is lurching from a bad combo of medications, and his arms and shoulders are stiff and aching from the previous day’s physical therapy. He wants to curl into a ball and die. He’s managed the ball part, pulling his legs up to his chest with his hands and manipulating them into the right position, but the dying thing is taking much longer.

 

He had to mind-wipe Moira yesterday. He didn’t want to, but it had to be done- a necessary evil. It was for them. He had done it for the kids, for their protection. No one could know about the school, not even her. But it hurts, erasing his friend’s memories and thoughts. Chances are they’ll never meet again. Chances are she’s going to lose her job, even with the files that he left in her briefcase. Chances are he’s ruined her life.

 

Charles is starting to understand what it feels like to live with a betrayal on his conscience.

 

There’s a bad taste in his mouth. He’d left her with a kiss, trying to soften the blow, but it was like feeding a dying man sugar: The sweet taste of what could have been making the reality of what really was that much more bitter. His stomach turns and he whimpers into a pillow, glad that he’s alone and that no one else is here to witness his weakness.

 

He tries so hard to be strong. He needs to be, for Raven and Hank and Alex and Sean. And for Erik, who he shouldn’t care about anymore but does. He’s their leader. He has to be in control, always, can’t afford any slip-ups. Their wellbeing is the most important thing to him these days, and if they’re worried about his health they’re not safe. He doesn’t deserve their worry. Worrying is _his_ job.

 

But he still feels awful.

 

The door opens a crack and Charles stifles a groan. _Please don’t be Raven please don’t be Raven she’ll only worry…_

“Charles?”

 

He stiffens and hastily checks that his mental blocks haven’t fallen down. The door closes, and there are soft footsteps. The bed dips beside him and he tries to even out his breath, eyes closed in a facsimile of sleep.

 

Something brushes against his head suddenly- a light touch, just grazing his scalp. He wills himself not to move as long fingers begin to card through his hair.

 

“What am I doing here, Charles?” The voice above him murmurs. “I must be mad.”

 

Charles is inclined to agree, but he doesn’t want to give any signs that he’s awake. Against his common sense, against the part of his brain that continues to indulge in rational, intelligent thought, he’s sort of enjoying having his hair stroked. It’s been a very, very long time since anyone’s done that to him, and he can’t deny that it feels amazing. His headache is starting to die away, and the hand against the back of his neck is warm and dry. And the voice, the voice that usually makes him put up his guard these days is slowly pulling it down.

 

He probably doesn’t even know what he’s doing to Charles. It isn’t fair. Any other time and he would long since have been told to get out, but God, his hands feel so good, and he’s whispering something into the dark that Charles is only half-hearing, and Charles thinks that if he could spend every moment between waking and sleep he could forgive every sin that those hands have ever committed.

 

When he wakes up the next morning Erik is gone, and it takes Charles a long while to figure out whether it had been a dream or not.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**   
**

 

Erik stares at the blinking lights of Cerebro falling over Charles’ forehead. “He’s a genius, you’d think he’d be able to make it at least fit you.” The alterations Hank has made increased the size of the helmet as well as extending the chord, so that it’s long enough to reach down to Charles’ new height.

 

Charles laughs. “Well, it’s not _my_ fault he had to make it so much shorter.” The moment after he’s said it, he wishes he could take the words back. The look on Erik’s face is gut wrenching, and Cerebro’s power boost makes sure that even though he’s still got his block up he feels the jolt of pain that stabs out from him.

 

“Oh, Erik, I didn’t mean-“

 

“No, I should leave.” He starts to back away but Charles grabs his hand, pinning it to the railing.

 

“Stay, please.” He holds fast, trying to anchor Erik there, to keep him in one place. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

 

The light s flicker between them, throwing Charles’ pleading eyes into shadow. He’s sure that if another telepath were to come into the room they would be bowled over by the sheer force of their emotions. Maybe it’s the influence of Cerebro, amplifying his emotions as well as his  powers, but the guilt that’s been building in him for months is starting to leak out. They’re both waiting to see who will make the first move.

 

“We need to talk.” Charles says finally. Erik raises an eyebrow.

 

“I thought everything was fine.”

 

“Yes, well.” He removes Cerebro’s headpiece with his free hand. “Obviously it’s not.”

 

“Obviously.” Erik’s voice is sarcastic, but his face is pale and drained. “When were you actually planning on talking to me?”

 

Charles frowns with one half of his mouth and smiles with the other. I wasn’t actually, but I suppose there’s no time like the present.”

 

Erik kneels and leans forward, pressing his brow against the cool, comforting metal. “I don’t know what to say. I’ve already apologized, Charles, I don’t know what I can do to make this better.”

 

Neither of them do. They’ve reached a stalemate: Not sure where to go from here, they hang in limbo. Charles closes his eyes.

 

“I blame you.”

 

The look on Erik’s face is pained but unsurprised. “Yes, I know. It’s not exactly as if your feelings are unfounded.”

 

Charles shakes his head. “But I shouldn’t blame you. I know that it wasn’t your fault.”

 

Erik laughs bitterly. “You’ve made it abundantly clear that it was.”

 

“If I could take back what I said on the beach…” Charles winces. “I wouldn’t. You were going to kill people, I had to say something.”

 

“It was the truth.”

 

“It wasn’t. You were only defending yourself.”

 

“But that doesn’t change a thing, does it? We both know it doesn’t, Charles.”

 

They can hear the kids outside, yelling and laughing. They’re playing football in the early evening air, working up an appetite before dinner, and they sound so happy and carefree that it makes Charles’ chest ache. His and Erik’s knuckles are white, their hands squeezing each other so tightly it hurts.

 

“No.” He whispers. “You’re right. It doesn’t.” He pulls his hand away and feels his heart drop into his stomach. “I’m so sorry, Erik, but I can’t forgive you. I know I should; I want to, but I just can’t.”

 

Erik straightens, fists by his sides. When he speaks his voice is measured and the tremor in his hands is well hidden from years of careful practice. “I understand.” The door beckons and he turns to go.

 

Charles wants to scream, but he doesn’t.


	8. Chapter 8

No one can say that things have been getting better. The students of the Xavier Institute may just be teenagers, but they aren’t stupid. Hank mentions one night that it reminds him of his parents before their divorce.

“My mother would just leave the room if my dad came in. It was like they couldn’t stand to be in the same place with each other.” He says, fiddling with his Monopoly piece (always the shoe) between his toes. Sean frowns from where he’s lying on his stomach, head propped up on his arms.

“So, what, you think that Erik and the Professor are going to get divorced?”

Alex smacks him upside the head with a handful of brightly colored paper money. “No, dumbass, they aren’t married.”

“I meant metaphorically.” Sean mutters and flushes the same color as his hair.

Raven’s eyes flash, glinting yellow in the low light. “Don’t joke about that. It’s not funny.”

“I don’t know, two guys being married seems pretty funny to me.”

“Shut up, Alex.” She rolls the dice and moves the silver top hat past ‘go’, collecting her two hundred dollars from the cardboard game box. 

“What, you actually want Erik here?” Sean raises his eyebrows. “After what happened?”

She stares at them. “Did you just forget everything he’s done for us? He saved the world, for Christ’s sake!”

“Yeah, by killing someone. That’s not very heroic, Raven.” Alex taps a hotel against the board. “And he did kind of shoot the Professor.”

Glaring, Raven stands up. “I don’t believe you guys.”

They let out a collective groan. “Oh, come on, Raven! It’s not as if we can trust him anymore, you said it yourself!”

She had, a few days before Charles’ return from the hospital. She had heard the soft footsteps going past and suddenly blurted it out, raising a loud murmur of agreement from the others. Outside the door the footsteps had sped up, and Raven had half-expected a talking-to that never came. She felt bad about it now, seeing how miserable Erik looked, and the more she thought about things the worse the feeling got.

“Yeah, but it’s not like he ever hurt any of us.”

Alex raps a fist on his skull. “I’d like to return attention to exhibit A: Your brother, the cripple.”

A burst of red-hot anger flares up in Raven’s vision, sharp and violent. She lunges at Alex across the Monopoly board, scattering toy money everywhere and slamming him back, his head cracking against the floor.

She lets loose a hail of punches, beating on Alex’s chest as Sean and Hank try to pull her off, one of them wrapped around each of her arms. Erik was right- she’s much stronger when she isn’t trying to maintain a false appearance. There’s someone yelling and tugging her back but she’s an angry teenage girl, and it takes a lot more than a skinny ginger and a half-hearted furry nerd to get her to stop fighting. Alex’s hands are held up to protect his face and a red hoop of energy spins out past her head, hitting the ceiling with a smash and a hail of plaster. She breaks his nose with pound of her fist and he howls, letting loose another blast that flies wildly into a window.

“Don’t call him that!” She screams, punching him again. “Don’t you fucking call him that, Alex, don’t you fucking DARE—“

“ENOUGH!”

There’s a hand on the scruff of her neck, yanking her up by the collar of her sweater, up and off of Alex and she’s just so angry she could SCREAM…

“What the Hell is going on here?!” Erik stares at the picture in front of him, Hank and Sean standing on either side of the carpet, Alex struggling to sit up with blood dripping from his face and hair, Raven at arm’s length, her chest heaving and her blue face flushed purple. “Alex, are you alright?”

He nods, wiping a sleeve across his face dazedly and muttering that he’s had worse in prison. Sean’s mouth is opening and closing like a beached fish.

Erik grabs Raven by the shoulders. “What do you think you’re doing? You could have killed him, have you gone insane?!”

Raven looks up at him, then down at her shaking hands. The knuckles are wet and red and her whole body is trembling with adrenaline. 

And then her face is buried in Erik’s shirt and she’s sobbing and when he wraps his arms around her and holds her tightly it only makes her cry harder.

He looks just as bewildered and out to sea as the boys do, staring at him with the weeping girl like they’ve each grown three heads (Not that there’s anything wrong with three-headed people- just last week Cerebro found a reclusive artist from Antigua hiding that particular mutant gift). He sighs.

“Sean, take Alex to the kitchen, I’ll be there in a minute. Hank, get the first aid kit. I’m going to bring Raven to her room.”

They nod awkwardly, eyes fixed on the floor as they help Alex to his feet. Erik manages to free himself from Raven’s embrace, unwrapping her arms around his middle and turning her towards the door with a gentle push. Her sobs have subsided to soft, watery hiccups, and as she shuffles down the hall beside him in her knitted sweater and bunny slippers she morphs into the blonde-haired, pink-skinned version of herself.

“Don’t tell Charles.” She whispers, not meeting his eyes.

“Chances are he already knows, but I won’t if you won’t.” 

She sniffs. “Can I get a tissue?”

“Of course you can.”

A few minutes later they sit on her bed as she blows her nose into a kleenex. 

“I feel like such an idiot.” She tries to tamp down on her tears, gulping. Erik pats her back nervously and tries to avoid another burst of waterworks. 

“You were angry. It happens.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt him, I just- it just- I was just so mad, it just happened before I even knew what was going on!”

“Trust me when I say that I understand, Raven.” He gets to his feet. “Go to sleep now. We can talk more about it in the morning.”

 

Alex stands with his head bent over the kitchen sink, dripping blood into the silver basin. “Isn’t there any way to make this stop faster?”

“Tip your head back.” Sean suggests. Hank shakes his head rapidly.

“DON’T tip your head back. That’s a bad idea.”

“Uh huh.” Alex lifts his face upwards and goes to sit on a wooden stool, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m going with Sean.”

“Who’s the doctor, here?”

“Oh come on, we all know you’re not a medical doctor.”

“You should probably listen to him anyway.” They turn to see Erik standing in the doorway. “Hank, did you get the medical supplies?”

He nods, wringing a dishtowel in his hands. “I didn’t know which first aid kit you wanted so I brought all three.”

Erik glances at the bandages and ointments spread out on the formica counter. “I can see that. Alex, come here.” 

The blonde strides over and collapses onto an aluminum folding chair, scowling with his nose in the air. “I’m fine.”

Erik raises an eyebrow. “Your nose is broken and you’re going to have two black eyes.” He glances at a cut above Alex’s cheekbone. “You’re lucky, I don’t think this will need stitches.”

Sean snickers under his breath and Alex glares at him. “What’s so funny?”

“You got beat up by a girl.”

“I’d like to see your take her.” He snarls. 

Hank frowns, still worrying away at the dishtowel. “You shouldn’t have made her upset.”

Throwing his hands up in the air exaggeratedly, Alex jostles Erik’s arm and ends up with a band-aid stuck to his shoulder. “Well how was I supposed to know she’d react like that?!”

“He’s her brother, you can’t just say stuff like that and expect her to be okay with it.” 

Erik’s eyes narrow. “What exactly did you say to Raven, Alex?”

The teen’s shoulders sag guiltily. “Nothing.”

“He called the Professor a cripple.” Hank’s arms are crossed over his chest and it’s clear he means business. Erik fixes Alex with a death glare, and when he talks his voice is even in a way that the kids know by now to associate with danger.

“I’m going to fix you up now, Alex, because it’s late and you should all be in bed,” he says, his teeth showing when he speaks, “But in the morning we are all going to have a very long, very unpleasant conversation. Do you understand?”

There’s a chorus of mumbled ‘yes’-s as Erik tapes the last bit of gauze to Alex’s rapidly swelling black and blue face.


	9. Chapter 9

_“I’m so sorry.”_

_“It’s okay, I understand.”_

_“I love you.”_

_“I know.”_

_  
_

_\---_

 

Alex glares down at the plate of blackened… _something_ before him. “What’s this supposed to be?”

 

Erik folds his arms over his chest defensively. “It’s toast.”

 

“It looks like you were trying to murder it. Did toast kill your parents?” Erik’s expression is deadly and Alex winces retroactively. “Sorry. Poor word choice.”

 

“You seem to have a real talent for that.”

 

It’s early, but Erik’s been up for hours. He takes a sip of his cold, congealing coffee and makes a face. Warm light streams in through the curtains of the kitchen, the sun coming through fabric making checkered patterns of red and white on the floor. If the hostility in the room wasn’t palpable, one could almost believe that it was simply an ordinary morning in an ordinary house. Alex butters the burned toast like he’s shanking it.

 

“Yeah, that’s me. Master of the art of foot-in-mouth.” He pulls a karate pose, arms in a pseudo-Asian fighting stance. “Hi-yah.”

 

“Are you just going to be sarcastic or do you actually have anything to say in your defense?” Erik raises the mug half way to his lips before thinking better of it and emptying the grayish brown dregs into the sink. He isn’t a patient man, and he doesn’t want to have to wait for another pot of coffee to percolate, so he settles for just standing there.

 

Alex takes a bite of the toast and has a reaction disturbingly similar to Erik’s confrontation with the coffee. “How did you survive living on your own if you can’t even make toast?”

 

“Luckily, it doesn’t take much talent to cook human flesh.” He pauses for a second, taking in Alex’s look of horror. “That was a joke.”

 

“Thanks for clarifying.” The teen reaches up to scratch his heavily bandaged nose. “For a second there…”

 

“Yes, well.”

 

There’s an awkward silence. Erik clears his throat and raises an eyebrow. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

 

Alex throws his hands in the air. “Jesus, what are you, the Spanish Inquisition?! I just said something I shouldn’t have, okay? I’m sorry, God!”

 

Erik hadn’t expected the apology so quickly. “You understand why Raven was angry, obviously?”

 

“Just because I’m a juvie doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”

Erik shakes his head. “No, I know you aren’t stupid. Just rude.”

 

“Oh, well, thanks, that makes everything so much better.” Alex stabs the toast with a fork and it falls apart.

 

Erik sits down across from him and pulls the plate away, grabbing part of the crust and taking a crunchy bite. “You must have done something more than just call Charles a derogatory term to get her hackles up like that. I mean,” He gestures to the black and blue that covers Alex, “From the look of things, she was trying to turn your face into a fine paste.”

 

“We had been arguing. It’s not important.” Alex frowns, leaning back in his chair so that it stands on only two of its legs.

 

“What about? Not Monopoly.”

 

If Alex could shoot lasers from his eyes, he would be burning a hole in the tablecloth (Wouldn’t that be an interesting mutant power, Erik mused). “Nothing.”

 

Dust motes float in the air above Erik’s head. “Really.”

 

“Yeah.” Alex juts his chin out defiantly. “Why does it matter? It’s over now.”

 

“I suppose.”

 

Alex’s expression stays stoic. “Am I going to be punished?”

 

“That’s up to the Professor.”

 

“Is Raven going to be punished?”

 

“Same as you, but probably yes. You can’t just hurt people and expect that there won’t be consequences.” Erik takes another bite of toast. Alex mutters something and the older man’s eyes narrow. “What was that?”

 

Alex scowls. “I said, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

 

Erik ducks his head, and it’s the most obviously upset Alex has ever seen him (Except for the time on the beach, of course). “That’s a low blow, Alex.”

 

“But it’s true, isn’t it?”

 

Erik sighs and reaches into his pocket, pulling something out and rolling it between his hands contemplatively before levitating it until it floats up in between his thumb and index finger. “Do you see this?”

 

Alex squints. “What is it?”

 

Light reflects off the object, glinting in Erik’s grasp. It’s small and silvery gray and rough, dented and squished inelegantly. “It’s a bullet.”

 

“So?”

 

Erik moves it closer to Alex’s face. “Let me rephrase that. It’s THE bullet.”

 

Revulsion crosses the teenager’s expression. “You mean that’s…?”

 

“I pulled it out of his body, Alex. I put it in and I pulled it out, and then I kept it. Do you know why?”

 

Alex shakes his head, for once at a loss for words. Erik closes his fist around the bullet.

 

“So that every time I wonder why he can’t look at me, or I want to feel his voice inside my head, I can look at this and remember why I’m alone.” He holds Alex’s stare for a long moment, matching his gaze. “Our actions leave impacts, Alex. You have to be careful what path you take. Remember that.”

 

Alex nods, knowing that he doesn’t have to say anything. Erik stands suddenly, pocketing the bullet hastily and turning to the counter.

 

“You’re probably still hungry. Even I was having a hard time eating that toast.” He brandishes a crumpled cardboard box. “Cornflakes?”

 

“Sure. Sounds good.”

 

When the others file in, groggy, and see Erik and Alex sitting peacefully at the table with their matching bowls of cereal, there’s a moment of the confusion that comes with a change from the normal morning routine. Hank rubs his eyes. Raven slips in past him and focuses her attention on the fridge.

 

Charles wheels in. “Good morning. Raven, please pass the orange juice.” She hands her brother the carton and he pours himself a glass. He pulls in to his spot at the table, taking a sip that seems to go down the wrong way when he coughs and splutters suddenly.

 

“Jesus Christ! Alex, what happened to your face?!”

 

Raven opens her mouth, a guilty look plastered on her face, but Alex beats her to it. “I said something stupid and Raven punched me. It was my fault. Really.”

 

Shooting a deep frown over his shoulder at his sister, he seems about as imposing as one can while one is wearing pinstriped pajamas as eight AM. “Is that true?”

 

She nods. “Yes.”

 

“Was that what I heard last night?” Charles looks horrified. “I thought there were some stray cats fighting in the yard!”

 

“How could you think they were cats?” Hank frowns. “I mean, I could understand if it was me fighting, but…”

 

The telepath shrugs. “I just picked up anger. It went away so fast I just thought-“

 

“Erik broke it up.” Alex pointed to him. “If he hadn’t pulled her off, I would not stand before you the incredibly handsome Greek god that I am.”

 

A smile flickers over Charles face as his eyes meet with Erik’s. A hesitant mirror image graces Erik’s lips momentarily, and Charles nods gratefully.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Well, I couldn’t have them killing each other.” Erik shrugs.

 

Raven sniffs suddenly, grimacing. “What smells like burning?”

 

Alex gestures with his spoon, dripping milk. “Erik tried to make toast.”

 

“With a flamethrower?” She quips. Alex laughs, and they smile at each other, and for a moment they are all happy and it almost feels like everything is back to normal.


	10. Chapter 10

****

Erik lies on his bed, threading Charles’ bullet through his fingers. Every few seconds his concentration will falter, and the cold metal will scrape against his skin. No matter how many times he’s done this there’s always a tiny shock at the touch of lead on flesh. He’s wondered about it before- about whether it’s just him or if Charles left some sort of psychic residue behind when the bullet passed through him. Every graze sends a faint jolt down his spine, a numb sensation at his legs. For a second it feels like his mouth is full of blood.

 

And then there’s a knock on the door and the spell is broken.

 

The bullet drops from the air by his hand onto the comforter beneath him, rolling in the folds and wrinkles of the fabric. He shoves it into his pocket and stands, smoothing down the front of his shirt. “The door is unlocked. Come in.”

 

Charles enters. It’s late: there are deep bags under his eyes and his hair is mussed like he’s been running his hands through it. Still, the edge of his lip quirks up when their eyes meet, and Erik can’t help but smile back. He’s missed this so much. He knows that he’s been greedy, wanting Charles’ voice in his head, but he supposes that this is what it’s like for humans and he’s tried to suck it up and enjoy what he can get.

 

“Erik. I’m glad you haven’t gone to sleep yet.” Charles wheels in further as Erik closes the door behind him. “I must admit, I’m on the way to bed myself.”

 

“I’m not surprised. It’s been a long day, you deserve some rest.”

 

“Mmm, I suppose.” Charles tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “I just wanted to say thank you. For dealing with the situation last night, I mean.”

 

Waving a hand, Erik crosses the room. “It was nothing. Brandy?” He gestures with the crystal tumbler and Charles nods, taking the offered glass gratefully and swirling the amber liquid before taking a sip. Erik sits down across from him on the bed. “I heard crashing and went to investigate. That was when Alex blasted the ceiling, I think.”

 

Charles winces. “I’m going to have to call someone in to repair that. It looks like a tornado went for a joyride with a machine gun.”

 

“That’s certainly a unique simile.”

 

“I try.” Erik watches as Charles smiles into his glass and tips back another mouthful, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “But in all seriousness, thank you. I’m still kicking myself for not intervening, I should have noticed…” He shakes his head ruefully.

 

“It wasn’t as bad as it looked.” The condensation forming on Erik’s drink was cool against his fingers. “And Raven was very upset afterwards.”

 

“Yes, she told me she’d cried. She seemed very embarrassed about it, actually.” He sighed. “She has a hot temper, but her heart’s in the right place.”

 

Erik re-filled his glass, topping up Charles’ as well. “She was defending you, you know.”

 

“Of course I know. Alex came to me and apologized after breakfast; he told me everything. And anyway, even he hadn’t told me outright I would have figured it out.”

 

Erik felt a spark of jealousy flicker in his chest. “Did you read his mind?”

 

Charles shook his head. “No, but he projects his emotions very loudly. Not good at hiding, is our Alex.”

 

“I had a talk with him about things earlier, before you all woke up.”

 

“I know. And for that I am extremely grateful, my friend.” Charles lays a hand on Erik’s knee and resists the urge to pull away when he sees the other man’s eyes widen. Erik draws in a breath so quickly that his lungs burn. He sits there, not moving, trying to decide whether or not to mention that that’s the first time in nearly five months that Charles has called him his friend.

 

Charles takes a gulp of the alcohol, steeling his nerves. “Erik, I… I know that it’s been a long time, but can I…” He blinks, choosing his words carefully. “Can I come in?”

 

Erik takes Charles’ hand in his and lifts it to his face, shaking, to press the pads of Charles’ soft fingertips against his temple. “I thought you would never ask me that again.”

 

They close their eyes in unison, Charles flexing the muscles of his hand against Erik’s skin. And then he’s inside Erik’s head, and it’s been so long, far, far too long since he’s felt this. Charles is in him and around him, filling up his space completely, soaking into all the untouched places Erik hasn’t dared to go since-

 

He’s briefly aware of Charles’ gasp as images flood them both, tiny movies Erik has made in his head from memories. They’re hopes, the imaginary scenarios that have been his only solace since that day they parted on the beach.

 

In the study, playing chess, smiling.

 

_“How can I be sure you’re telling the truth?”_

_“You can’t. I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”_

Erik, pleading to Charles as he turns away.

 

_“Do you understand? How it feels to have someone blocking you out?”_

_“I’m not-“_

_“No, you’re not.”_

" _Don't shut me out anymore. I want you to see me."_

" _I've forgotten how."_

An argument they never had.

" _This isn't something you can just yell until it goes away or, or try to stab in the face! That's not how it works!"_

" _You think I don't know that?"_

Erik, the dark metal of Shaw’s helmet glinting in low light. Charles scowling.

" _Take it off."_

" _No."_

" _Don't make me do something I'll regret. Take it off. NOW."_

" _No. Not this time."_

 

At Charles’ feet, sobbing.

 

" _I don't want you to forgive me. Just don't ignore me."_

A dream.

 

" _I'm so sorry."_

" _It's okay, I understand."_

" _I love you."_

" _I know."_

 

And then he’s free, and his face is wet with tears he didn’t realize he had shed, on his knees beside Charles’ wheelchair with Charles’ hands cupping his face. His palms are warm and trembling against Erik’s cheek as he bends, pressing their foreheads together.

 

“Some days I hate you.” It hurts to say it, and he’s sure it hurts Erik even more to hear, but it’s true. “Some days I wish you had left before I gave you the chance to stay. I wish I had never met you.”

 

Erik nods, understanding. “Some days I wish you had let me drown.”

 

“I…” Charles falters and it’s obvious now that he’s been crying, too. “I never wish that. God, Erik, I would never wish that.”

 

When their lips meet, it’s everything Erik has ever wished for in his entire life, and everything he’ll ever need. Charles is there, and he’s real, and it’s enough. It’s more than enough.

 

Erik and Charles touch and know that they will never be alone again.

 


End file.
